


My Bloody Valentine

by TheOnlyCeeCeeJ



Series: The Marvel Jukebox [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Based on a Good Charlotte Song, Beating, Denial of Feelings, Detailed murder, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Graphic Description, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Guilt, Heavy Angst, Home Invasion, Hurt Peter Parker, Innocent Peter Parker, Invasion of Privacy, Jealous Quentin Beck, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, M/M, Murder, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Violence, Obsessive Behavior, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Poor Life Choices, Poor Peter Parker, Poor Tony Stark, Possessive Behavior, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Psychosis, Psychotic Quentin Beck, Smug Tony, Stalking, Survivor Guilt, Unhealthy Obsession, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:43:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22678201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOnlyCeeCeeJ/pseuds/TheOnlyCeeCeeJ
Summary: Oh my love please don't cry, I'll wash my bloody hands and we'll start a new lifePeter Parker had everything he could ever dream of. A fantastic career and the love of one Tony Stark.Quentin Beck wasn't so lucky. He had lost his dream job and the love of his life wouldn't look twice at him.  It wasn't fair. But sometimes, they don't know what's missing until it's right in front of their eyes. Sometimes you can't wait around for the universe to give you what you want. Sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands.WARNING: This involves graphic violence and a very graphic description of murder.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Series: The Marvel Jukebox [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2162547
Comments: 6
Kudos: 49





	My Bloody Valentine

**Author's Note:**

> You know when you're listening to a song and think, "That would be a cool fic..." Well, that's what happened here!! This is based on and uses some of the lyrics from Good Charlotte's song [My Bloody Valentine.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6gSz7QyQ4Pg) Have a listen, it's a brutal story of unrequited love and doing whatever it takes to get the love of your life, no matter how psychotic. (Bad idea, not advised at all, please do not take any advice from this other than what NOT to do!)
> 
> I want to thank everyone on [SweetestHoney's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetestHoney) Discord Server for getting my mind running to write my first MCU fic after months of lurking and reading! I love you guys so much! If you fancy joining in with the rarepairs & thirst, here's the link https://discord.gg/9kHHGx8
> 
> Huge thank you to [tactile_introvert](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tactile_introvert) for being my beta reader. You're amazeballs and a beautiful, beautiful hooman!

Peter pulled around the corner and down the ramp, coming to a stop outside the Stark Tower parking garage. The car was a gift from Tony the minute they had begun their relationship.  _ “No man of Tony Stark’s will take the subway, heaven forbid the bus!”  _ he had said. Tony had presented the car and then proceeded to take Peter out to learn to drive through the city and eventually took him to the DMV to take his driving test. 

As the gates to the garage opened, Peter’s phone began to ring. He looked on the car console and it read  ** _*Unknown Number*. _ ** Peter shook his head and screened the call, no one he knew called on an unknown number and there was no reason for anyone else to contact him. Tony had told him never to answer the phone unless it was someone he knew, just in case it was the press or some nut-job who had slipped through F.R.I.D.A.Y. or Karen’s defenses. The chances were small, but Tony didn’t want to take the risk. When they had gone public together, there was a lot of initial outcry calling Peter a sugar baby, gold digger, some going as far as saying he was Tony’s rent boy. 

Tony had gone through all of the publications, threatening lawsuit, ruin, anything he possibly could and ensured every single one of them wrote retractions and apologies to them. Peter tried to tell him not to bother, that it would all quiet down eventually, but Tony was having none of it. While they had apologies on paper, many people had already read the offending articles and had their minds set. The pair didn’t let it phase them and, after 2 years together, had mostly proven the nay-sayers wrong. Peter had recently patented a few pieces of defense technology for the US government without the assistance of Tony and had made a name for himself under the Stark Industries umbrella. People finally saw him as Peter Parker, genius inventor and partner of Tony Stark. 

Peter rolled through the parking garage and pulled up to his space. Tony had thought it funny to put up a red & blue plaque with “Parking Reserved for Baby Boy” embossed in large black letters. Peter parked up and as he got out of his car, his phone rang again. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and saw that it was an unknown number again. He cancelled the call, put his phone back in his pocket and stepped into the elevator. 

“Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y., is Tony up yet?” Peter asked. A few seconds ticked by and he received no response. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” 

Peter sighed and made his way to the lab. Tony must be up and working on F.R.I.D.A.Y.’S programming or something. There was never a time that she didn’t respond. Something must have been wrong and Tony’s gonna be fixing it. Right? She was working last night when he had left for the evening to go and stay with May, so something must have happened overnight. The elevator doors opened and Peter stepped out into a very quiet lab. There was no loud music blasting from the speakers, no terrible attempts at singing along. It was a ghost town. It looked exactly as they had left it before they had gone out the night before. 

“Tony? Are you here?” he called. The hairs on his arms stood up. Something wasn’t right. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something so very wrong with this picture. 

Peter got back into the elevator and headed straight up to the penthouse, heart hammering in his chest. When the elevator came to a stop, Peter all but wrenched the doors open and ran out into the living area.

“Tony?!” he called, running through and checking every room. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. where’s Tony?” he called out, almost pleading. He ran through and threw doors open, calling Tony’s name over and over. As time progressed, so did his worry. ‘ _ He could have gone somewhere and not let you know, Peter,’ _ he told himself.  _ ‘But he knew you were coming home this afternoon, he would have told you if his plans had changed,’  _ the logical and traitorous part of his brain responded.

As more and more rooms revealed no Tony, Peter slowly made his way to their bedroom. The door was ajar and it looked like one of the lamps was on. Peter should feel relieved at the possibility that Tony was home. He could be asleep. He might be in the shower. Peter should be reassured, but he’s not. His spidey sense is screaming at him that something is wrong. Terribly wrong. 

Despite the fact that he’s a superhero, his body was shaking. He was terrified of what he would find in that room, but he wasn’t entirely sure why. He crept to the door slowly, trying to regain control of his breathing. He stretched out his hand to push open the door and his hand was shaking uncontrollably. He pushed the door open and stepped into the room, the moment he laid his eyes on the scene, he screamed. It was an ear-piercing scream, like something he had heard several times in those awful horror movies. Peter stumbled back into the door, the contact on his back causing his knees to buckle and he slid down to the floor. No matter how much he wanted to,  _ god he wanted to,  _ he couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

Tony Stark was sprawled out on the bed, his head lolling off the end of the bed, facing the door. Peter sat and stared into the unblinking, lifeless eyes of his boyfriend. It took a while before Peter began to realise what had happened. Tony’s throat was ripped out gruesomely, leaving his head barely hanging on. The river of blood that had poured from the gash stained the material of the expensive bed and pooled across the floor, thick and pungent. More blood was splattered and pooled all over the room, flicked over the windows, the ceiling and the walls. Peter pulled himself into a standing position and as his eyes returned to Tony’s body, he realised that Tony’s chest was carved open, organs tossed carelessly over the bed and snapped ribs poking out through the gore. 

Peter’s body shook with sobs as he watched the lifeless body of his love. He stood and stared and he didn’t know how long he was there for. ‘ _ What do I do?’  _ he thought to himself, reaching in his pocket for his phone. Finally tearing his eyes away from the bed, he noticed his phone had 4 missed calls from an unknown number. He closed the notification and immediately scrolled through his phone book for the only person he could think of. 

“This better be good, Parker.” 

Peter tried to get his crying under control. “Dir… Director Fury? It’s… It’s Tony. I… I don’t know what happened, I got to the tower and it was… It was empty and I was worried and…”

“Spit it out, Parker.”

“Tony’s dead.” Finally saying the truth of the situation out loud was the final straw for Peter as he collapsed on the ground, crying harder than ever.

Peter didn’t hear anything else that was said on the phone. All he could hear was his own wailing. He didn’t flinch as the room was slowly flooded with police, crime scene techs, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and a couple of Avengers. Peter couldn’t bring himself to move as Commander Hill placed a hand on his shoulder. It wasn’t until Bucky flipped him onto his back and scooped him up off the floor that he left the bedroom. 

Peter curled into the strong chest, still crying and muttering about Tony. Bucky walked Peter into the living room, where they were followed by a couple of police officers, agents and Director Fury. When Bucky set him down on the sofa, Peter whimpered. A blanket was thrown over him, but he couldn’t move his limbs to pull it around himself. He was numb. 

The officers and agents asked him question after question. What he had done last night? Who was he with? Had Tony been in contact? What did he do when he found the body? Did he know who could have done this? Peter answered each question solemnly and quietly, his voice hoarse from the sobbing. After hours of questioning, the officers asked if there was anywhere he could go. He asked Bucky to call Aunt May and let her know what had happened and that Peter would be on his way over. 

Several people asked Peter if he needed a ride home, or at least an escort, but Peter refused and told them that he wanted to be alone. He wasn’t in the mood to hear people tell him how sorry they were for his loss, how terrible a situation this was. He already knew that. All he wanted to do was go to bed and pray that, when he woke up, this was all a dream. 

Peter got into his car and made his way from the building, the flashing lights of the police cars outside Stark Tower were already drawing a lot of unwanted public and media attention. The vultures were already crowded around the police tape, trying to find out what had happened and catch a glimpse of something. Peter shook his head as he turned away and made his way out to Queens. Across the road, a lone dark figure watched as the car left and as soon as it was out of sight, got into a black sedan and followed at a distance.

When Peter got home, he didn’t notice anything around him. He locked his car and walked up to the door, where May was already standing, arms out wide. He stepped into the hug but couldn’t bring himself to raise his arms and return the embrace. He was no longer crying, his face was blank. May took his hand and led him into the house as the black sedan pulled up across the road.

May didn’t say anything to Peter. There was nothing that she could say to him that anyone hadn’t already said. She couldn’t make it better. She knew how Peter felt. When she lost Ben, everyone tried everything to make her feel better, but all she could hear was pity. She took Peter’s hand and led him straight to the bathroom. May helped her nephew out of his clothes and into the shower, neither caring about the nakedness. May helped him out of the shower once he was clean and helped him into a pair of pajamas before tucking him into bed. 

Peter curled up into the fetal position as May left the bedroom, returning moments later with a large glass of water and his phone, placing both on the bedside table before perching herself on the edge of the bed. She ran her fingers through Peter’s damp curls and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Peter didn’t react to the touch, he just stared straight ahead.

May sighed lightly, “Come and get me if you need me, ok?” she whispered. Peter didn’t move. “I love you, sweetie.”

She got up and left the room, leaving Peter alone with his thoughts. Peter lay there overthinking. He couldn’t get the image of Tony’s body out of his mind. It was burned so deep into his memory that he was too scared to close his eyes. Everytime he did, it seemed like it was printed on the inside of his eyelids. He lay there for what felt like hours in silence, staring at the wall when suddenly his phone started buzzing on the bedside table. 

Not looking at the caller ID, Peter answered the phone. “Hello?” he said weakly. 

Whoever was on the end of the phone sat for a few seconds, breathing heavily. When Peter sniffed, the person finally spoke. “Peter?” 

“What do you want?” he whispered.

“I’m sorry, Peter. I really am.”

Peter groaned, “Who is this?”

“I mean it. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean…”

Peter sat up, “Didn’t mean what?” he asked. He pulled the phone away from his ear and saw that it was an unknown number. “Who is this?”

“Nothing. I just called to say I’m sorry.”

Peter rolled his eyes, “Well, join the queue, buddy.” Peter choked out a sob. “I’m sure there’s a crowd forming to join the ‘I feel sorry for Peter Parker’ club.”

“But they don’t have a reason to. I do. Peter, I’m sorry.” They hung up the phone. 

Peter sat and stared at his phone, the floodgates opened again. He was hurt and confused. Who was that person and what did they mean? Peter laid back down and curled in on himself, hugging his knees tight. He cried and cried until he couldn’t anymore. He cried until exhaustion set in and he fell asleep.

Outside May’s house, a hooded figure sat on the hood of a black sedan, taking a phone away from their ear, disconnecting a call. They looked directly at the dark window of Peter’s room. The person shook their head, “Oh my love, please don’t cry,” they whispered up towards the window.

They turned off the burner phone, took out the sim card and snapped it and the phone in half. They wiped the pieces of the phone clean before dropping them to the floor and crushing them under their boots. Gloved hands picked up the pieces and placed them in a plastic bag for disposal later. They threw the bag of phone pieces back into their car and reached into the glove compartment, pulling out a small bag before shutting the car door quietly. They opened the bag and inspected the collection of needles before looking around the area and confirming they were alone as they headed in the direction of the Parker home.

***MY BLOODY VALENTINE***

Peter groaned as he woke up. He had a splitting headache and his body ached. His eyelids still felt heavy and he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes just yet. He went to reach up to the bedside table but as he went to lift his arms, something stopped him mid-reach. As soon as his arm was stopped from moving, Peter’s eyes shot open. 

He couldn’t focus completely, it felt like he was drunk. The room was spinning. The room. It wasn’t his room. The ceiling was stained with some unknown substance leaking from somewhere upstairs, the wallpaper was old-fashioned and peeling in random places, revealing more disgusting wallpaper and some other questionable stains. Peter tried to sit up and realised that he was chained to a shabby wrought iron bed. As his consciousness steadied, Peter tried to pull at his restraints but he had no strength. 

Peter whimpered as he wondered what had happened. He knew he had cried himself to sleep after that weird phone call.  _ That phone call! _ Peter wracked his brain trying to remember the call as best he could, trying to see if he could pinpoint a voice, anything that could tell him who it was. Peter kept trying to pull at his restraints, hoping and praying that either his strength would return or someone would hear the commotion and try to save him. After a few minutes of struggle, Peter’s limbs tired fully, dropping to his sides. What had happened to him? How long had he been here? Had he been drugged? 

As his mind ran away with possibilities, the small door opposite opened and when Peter saw who it was, he gasped.

“Beck?”

Quentin closed the door, balancing a tray on one hand. He gave Peter a sweet smile and made his way over to the bed, sitting down next to Peter’s waist, placing the tray on the table. As the thin mattress dipped, Peter tried to shuffle himself as far away from the man as possible. When Quentin noticed what Peter was doing, he shook his head and reached over, dragging Peter back so that their hips touched.

“Hey, sleeping beauty. I’m glad you’re awake,” Quentin crooned, running his fingers through Peter’s hair.

Peter flinched at the touch and tried to move his head away. Quentin sighed, gripped the hair at the back of Peter’s head, and forced the younger man to look directly at him. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Peter tried to shake the hand from his head. “What do you want, Beck? Why am I here?”

Quentin released his grip and traced his fingers over Peter’s cheek, “I missed you. I wanted to see you and you wouldn’t answer my calls.”

A lightbulb went off in Peter’s mind. “The phone calls. That was you?”

“Of course it was, baby.” Quentin’s fingers continued to trail down Peter’s throat and danced across his chest. 

Peter shuddered at the contact. “So you kidnapped me? Tied me down so I wouldn’t run away?”

“What else was I supposed to do? You were ignoring me. I wanted to see you, Peter.”

Peter sighed, “Look, I have enough to deal with right now, I really don’t need this.” Tears welled up in Peter’s eyes, “I just want to be at home. Please let me go.”

“I know you do, sweetheart and I’m sorry, but I can’t. I need you here with me.”

Tears rolled down Peter’s cheeks. He watched as Beck picked up the newspapers from the tray and placed them on his lap, flipping through the pile as if checking they are all there before opening the Daily Bugle, shaking his head. 

“The headlines read “ _ A Lover Died _ ”… yadda yadda yadda…  _ Tony Stark was found by his boyfriend, Peter Parker… _ yadda yadda…  _ No tell-tale heart was left to find… _ It’s terrible, Peter. His heart was gone. Truly awful.” Quentin leaned over and wiped the tears from Peter’s cheeks. “Oh, baby, please stop crying. I’m here to look after you. That’s why I was calling you. I wanted to make sure you were ok.”

Peter’s mind ticked over. The calls had begun before he had even found Tony. Why would he be calling that soon? It could only be… “Beck, you called me when I first got there. What did you do?” Peter pleaded.

Quentin flinched and looked down at Peter with sorrowful eyes. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry you are going through this, I really am. I… I just wanted you… I didn’t mean…” He wiped a stray tear from his cheek. “I didn’t mean for it to go that far, Peter.”

Peter gasped at Beck’s admission. Peter turned and looked at Beck properly and noticed that his clothes were covered in dried blood.  _ Tony’s blood _ .

“What the  _ fuck _ did you do, you dim-witted asshole!?” Peter screamed, thrashing at his restraints as some new-found energy thrummed through his body. “What? You’re so jealous of how amazing Tony is that you just  _ had _ to get rid of him?! You  _ killed _ Tony? Why? Because you want to  _ be  _ him? Think you can try and take over? You could never measure up to that man. Your mind is nothing. Your ideas are nothing. You’re not even worthy to be the dirt on his shoes…”

The slap that followed snapped Peter’s head away so hard he felt the strain in his neck. He sobbed as his ears started ringing. Quentin’s ring caught his face and cut through his skin, blood now pouring from the cut.

“SHUT UP!” Quentin shouted, standing over the young man. “I was trying to be nice to you, Peter!”

“Nice?” Peter whimpered, “That was you being nice? Killing my boyfriend was  _ nice _ ?”

“Oh, don’t give me that. I didn’t want to hurt you, Peter. I was talking to you kindly. You made me do that, sweetheart.”

“I…”

“You were just downright insulting and I won’t have that.” Quentin sat back down on the bed and pulled Peter’s chin forcefully, making the young man look at him. “Now, since you’ve been rude, I’m not gonna tell you what happened.”

Peter sighed in relief, thanking whatever God was listening. He didn’t want to hear about Tony’s murder. Finding the body was enough. 

Quentin noticed the look in Peter’s eyes. “Oh no, I won’t tell you, I’m gonna show you.” He slacked the length of the chains holding Peter down and pulled Peter into a sitting position against the iron bars before tightening the restraints once more. 

Peter’s eyes widened in horror, tears falling freely down his face. What did Beck mean? Was he next? As Peter’s mind wandered through the possibilities, the room began to change. Before he knew it, Peter was in Tony’s bedroom. He looked down and the single bed beneath him had transformed into his and Tony’s obscenely large bed, the only thing anchoring him was the fact that he wasn’t as comfortable as he used to be in that bed. 

_ It was peaceful at that height, the busy New York streets below, barely a murmur. Given the time, the lights of the city illuminated the room slightly, only a couple of little lamps adding to the dimly lit room. _

_ Tony was facing the window, looking out over the city. He had a glass of water in his hand and was shirtless, with a pair of pyjama pants slung low on his hips. Tony stood and stared for a few moments, sipping his water, before he heard a knock on the door frame.  _

_ Tony whipped around. He wasn’t supposed to have any visitors. In the doorway, stood Beck, a blank look on his face, holding the strap of his satchel tightly.  _

_ “What are you doing here?” Tony asked, recognising the man immediately.  _

_ “I wanted to talk, Tony. Man to man.” _

_ “Hmm… How about you point me in the direction of the other man and maybe I’ll be interested in a chat,” Tony said flippantly. “Now, why don’t you take yourself out of here. I can get F.R.I.D.A.Y. to call you a cab.” _

_ Quentin chuckled, “No need. I’m not going anywhere yet.”  _

_ Tony rolled his eyes. “Yes, you are. Fri…” _

_ “Oh, your little F.R.I.D.A.Y. is taking a nap. How’d you think I got in here?” Quentin smiled. _

_ Tony’s heart dropped a little. Only a little. While he was shocked that this man had hijacked his system, he still showed a strong front, not completely threatened by the man. This disgruntled ex-employee was just a computer nerd who wanted to get back at him for firing him and finishing off what the man had started, only better, and making a shit-ton of money from it. He was nothing.  _

“Look at him, Peter. He’s not remotely worried, is he?” Quentin remarked. Peter lowered his head, trying to refuse to watch the scene. Quentin scooted next to Peter and reached behind his head, gripping the young man’s curls and holding his head up. “There’s just me and him. No AI, no assistance. He’s such a smug bastard.”

_ “Fine. What did you want to talk about, Beck?” Tony asked, walking towards the man and taking a seat on the ottoman at the foot of the bed.  _

_ “I wanted to talk to you about Peter, Tony,” Quentin began, walking further into the room. “You really should leave him alone to make his own choices.” _

_ Tony laughed loudly. “His own choices?! What makes you think he doesn’t. And what business is it of yours?” _

_ Quentin walked calmly over and sat on the other end of the ottoman, facing Tony. “He’s young. You have pulled him into the Tony Stark orbit and he is lost. You’ve trapped him. You’re controlling his life. He should be allowed to do whatever he wants. Not what you want.” _

_ “What the fuck are you getting at, Beck?” Tony was confused and a little angry. “Who are you to say what Peter wants? You don’t even know him.” _

_ “He’s a bright young man who deserves happiness. You’re not giving him that. You need to leave Peter alone.” _

_ “Peter is happy. Unbelievably happy, Beck. I don’t know what craziness is running through your little mind, but you’re talking out your ass.” _

_ Quentin’s fists clenched. “You’re not what he needs.” _

_ Tony laughed again, “What? And you are?” _

_ Quentin locked eyes with Tony, a determination shining in his eyes that confirmed what Tony had asked. _

_ Tony laughed even harder. “You?! What even are you? A washed-up loser who can’t finish anything worthwhile. A has-never-been who couldn’t market a piece of tech if his life depended on it.Why would Peter want you?” Tony stood and faced Quentin, waving his hands in the man’s general direction to gesture his appearance. “Look at you. You’re a mess.” _

_ Quentin’s fists clenched even tighter, shaking, as the man above him swanned around the room not even trying to contain his laughter.  _

_ “Peter wouldn’t even look at you twice, especially when he has someone like me. Peter needs someone with a mind to match his. You’d never measure up. I can’t even imagine trying to hold an intelligent conversation with you.” Tony stopped his pacing and posed as though he was thinking. “Hmm… ‘What did you do today, Beck?’ ‘Uh… Well… I don’t know, I don’t do much.’” Tony mocked, deliberately making Beck sound moronic. “Peter would be bored in seconds. Even his friends have more intelligence in their pinkies than you do in your entire brain.” _

_ Tony looked down at the man. His face was scrunched up in anger, fists clenched in his lap. Tony could see the man’s shoulders shaking slightly and he smiled. He enjoyed knowing that he was getting to the man so much. He knew that he should stop and just make the delusional man leave, but he was having too much fun with this.  _

_ Tony walked towards the man and kneeled in front of him in the most condescending way, tipping his head to the side slightly, the pity pouring from his eyes. “I haven’t trapped Peter, you know. He was the one who pursued me, not the other way round. He worked hard trying to get my attention. He wanted me. He loves me.” Tony noticed how Quentin flinched at the ‘L’ word.  _

_ “You love him?” Tony asked, watching the other man’s jaw set. He sat back on his haunches and sighed. “You do? Wow you really are delusional. You’ve never actually met Peter. What are you? Some kind of stalker watching from afar? ‘Oh Peter, Peter please notice me!’” Tony mocked. “Peter is in a different league to you. He needs a man a billion times better than you, and guess what…? I am.” Tony leaned forward again, grinning as the man’s body really began to shake with his suppressed anger. “He was gagging for it,” Tony said calmly. “He was begging to sit on my cock, pleading with me to split him open. Dying to have me fill his pretty hole whenever he wanted it. You know you could never satisfy him. He’s got the best and nothing else will do. Especially not a limp-dicked simpleton like yo…” _

_ “SHUT UP!” Quentin screamed, delivering a swift uppercut as he stood.  _

_ Tony’s body was thrown backwards from the force of the blow. He sat up slowly, wiping the blood away from his mouth, still smiling, seemingly happy to have gotten such a strong reaction. Quentin stayed where he was standing, chest heaving, looking down at the billionaire. Tony’s grin dropped from his face as he watched the man change before him. His eyes were no longer those of a confused, feeble man. They were dark - almost black - and he held himself much larger than he had been previously. This wasn’t the weak, incompetent man who had first arrived. Tony had pushed him too far and something had snapped.  _

_ Tony flicked out his arms to call his suit and waited. Nothing happened. Quentin laughed, a maniacal gleam in his eyes. _

“Did you hear how he spoke about you? Those disgusting words he said about you. I’d never speak about you like that, Peter. Never.” Quentin released Peter’s hair and placed his arms around the young man’s shoulders, hugging him close. Peter shook his head, not wanting to see or hear any more. “Look at him now. The great Tony Stark looks scared.”

_ “Tony, Tony, Tony. It seems you’ve underestimated me,” Quentin purred as he stalked slowly towards the man on the floor. “You thought I’d come to Iron Man’s apartment without a few tricks up my sleeves?” Quentin rolled the sleeves of his shirt up and laid a forceful punch to the side of Tony’s head when the man tried to get up.  _

_ “I told you, your AI is taking a nap, Tony. You don’t think I’d  _ ** _let_ ** _ you have access to your suits, do you?” He kicked Tony in the jaw and watched the man fly back again, head cracking on the floor. “You and I are completely alone, Tony. The cameras aren’t recording right now. Actually, what’s being played into your video files is you finishing that glass of water and getting into bed for a peaceful night.” Quentin knelt beside Tony and gripped his hair, lifting his head and forcing them to lock eyes. “Isn’t that peaceful,” he remarked before dropping Tony’s head unceremoniously.  _

_ Tony groaned and tried to roll over and push himself up off the floor. Quentin watched the man struggle and as Tony got to his hands and knees, Quentin landed a swift kick to Tony’s chest, throwing the man over on his side, coughing hard, spitting blood onto the carpet.  _

_ Quentin tsked and chuckled. “What was that you called me, Stark? A loser?” He kicked the billionaire’s torso once more. “A mess?” And another kick. “Look at  _ ** _you!_ ** _ You’re an absolute wreck. How could Peter love you? You’re weak. You’re nothing without your suits. Take those bits of metal away and you’re just a useless man. Worthless. Peter could never love a man like…” Quentin gestured to Tony, who was shaking and trying to get back up. “Like this.” _

_ Quentin shook his head and turned away, walking back towards the bed where he had left his bag. He kneeled down and rummaged around. As he did, Tony started wrenching himself off the floor. When he made it to his hands and knees, he coughed and spat out a gruesome concoction of blood, clots and saliva. He paused and regarded his attacker, who didn’t even flinch and continued to face the other direction.  _

_ Tony winced as he pushed himself further until he was finally standing. He staggered a little, his brain was foggy and he felt incredibly weak. In all honesty, he was terrified. He had been imprisoned by terrorists with shrapnel threatening to tear his heart to shreds and he had fought aliens, but he had never felt this helpless. He took a few preliminary steps and sucked in a deep breath as he felt his ribs move, obviously broken and possibly piercing something important. _

_ He took a few more steps and his adrenaline finally kicked in. All he had to do was overpower this man for a moment and he could get out. Get to his suits. Get to help. Anything. He looked around and cursed, knowing his emergency gauntlet was installed in his bedside table at the other end of the room. He wasn’t even sure it would work, though, this nut-job seemed to have hacked his entire network. He grabbed a decorative marble dish and made his way over. He staggered a few steps before he could tune out the pain. He crept slowly and as quietly as he could, closer to Beck, his heart pounded in his chest, rattling against his broken ribs but he refused to acknowledge the pain. He watched Beck stand up and focused on the man’s head, where he was aiming as he lifted his arm ready to attack.  _

_ At the last second, Beck turned around and swung for Tony, who crumbled to the ground. Tony’s vision swam, his head throbbed and he could barely focus. His head lolled to the side, towards Beck, as his vision focussed, he noticed a hammer dangling from the man’s fist. Tony’s eyes rolled as he started to succumb to the darkness induced by his head injury, but Beck obviously had other ideas, tapping Tony’s face lightly with the hammer. _

_ “Uh uh uh, Stark. You’re not getting out of this that easily. Wakey wakey,” he sang lightly, grabbing Tony by the hair, hoisting him up, and dragging him over to the bed.  _

_ Quentin tossed Tony down haphazardly and moved to straddle his waist. The blow that Tony had received to the head was deep, it had shattered part of his skull and a part of his brain was on show. Tony’s head lolled once more, he couldn’t hold his head up, he couldn’t control any part of his body. He couldn’t kick the man off of him. Everything felt so heavy.  _

_ He wasn’t sure if it was the head wound or not, but he could hear muttering and babbling. It could have been him for all he knew. He mustered up all of his remaining strength to try and turn his head towards Beck. His eyes widened as he saw Beck sitting up on him, his eyes were wide and crazed and his lips were moving at a million miles per minute. He wasn’t stopping so he couldn’t have been expecting a reply. Tony’s vision swam again as he watched the man conversing with himself for a few moments before he turned his manic eyes on Tony, grinning. _

_ “Oh good, you’re up! I was hoping you’d stay conscious for this.” Quentin started toying with the hammer in his hands. “You see, I was thinking… What is the one think keeping Peter from me? You. So all I need to do is get rid of you.”  _

_ Tony gasped and tried to shake the man off, but with everything that happened, all he could manage was a twitch of the wrist. Beck chuckled as he watched the man twitch and struggle. A demonic gleam shone in the man’s eyes as he looked between the billionaire and the hammer. Tony couldn’t take his eyes off of the weapon and, no matter how terrified he was, he refused to show the psycho any more weakness. He wanted someone to turn up and shoot the man. Stop him. But in the back of his mind, he knew that wouldn’t happen. No one bothered him at this time unless it was life-and-death. Funny that. The one time it really was. Tony tried to will himself under, so that he wouldn’t have to really know what was gonna happen, but his brain was so wired, he just kept staring wide-eyed at the hammer, which flashed past his line of vision and the claw was jammed in the side of his throat. _

_ Tony spasmed as he tried to scream. The pain was the most intense he had ever felt. Blood gurgled out of his mouth as he tried to speak. He couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything. The fear finally poured from his eyes in tears. He knew this was it. Tony could feel himself slipping, knowing this psycho must have gone through his jugular. He was bleeding out fast.  _

_ Beck leaned forward, chuckling, bending so that he could whisper into Tony’s ear, “Sweet dreams, Tony.” Quentin sat up, leaning on the hammer slightly for leverage, making a sick sound fall from Tony’s lips. Quentin gripped the hammer tight and smiled as he wrenched it out, pulling Tony’s trachea and esophagus with it with a sickening snap. Blood splattered all over the room and Quentin as Tony’s head dropped back off the bed and hung there limply. _

_ Quentin sat and stared at the body, heaving as the adrenaline fought to leave his body. He’d done it. Peter was free. Almost. Quentin looked down at the mangled body of his rival and smiled. He clambered off the bed and went to his bag, pulling out a sharp hunting knife. He scrambled back over and straddled Tony’s body once more and raised the knife above his head almost like a ritual sacrifice and plunged it into Tony’s chest, breaking the man’s sternum, the disgusting crack echoing through the large room.  _

_ Beck dragged the knife through Tony’s chest, until there was a large jagged incision from top to bottom. Quentin tossed the knife to the side and lifted the hammer once more, using the claw to yank up his ribs and open the body up. Once the cracked bones were all raised to attention, he reached in and gripped the man’s still heart and pulled it out, cutting the veins and arteries so that he could extract it fully.  _

_ Quentin quickly gathered up his things and placed them and the heart in his bag, which he hooked onto his shoulder as he walked out of the room, not even bothering to look back.  _

The room didn’t change back to the dingy hole that he was really in. Peter sat on the bed crying and staring at the lifeless body of his lover once more. He couldn’t try to hide his pain as his body rattled with sobs. He tried to bring his hands up to his face but the chains held them too tight. For a moment, he forgot where he was, who he was with, so overcome with the grief once more. That was until the arm around his shoulders tightened and pulled his head into his captor’s chest. 

Quentin ran his hands through Peter’s curls, “Shhhh. It’s ok baby. I promise. Everything will be ok. You mourn the death of your bloody valentine.” Peter cried harder. “No… Please. I’m sorry. I didn’t really want to show you this, but you were being so… so awful.” Quentin pulled away slightly so that Peter had to look up at him. “You said some pretty awful things to me, Peter.” Quentin brushed his knuckles down Peter’s cheek. “You really hurt my feelings…”

Something snapped in Peter’s mind and he straightened up. “Your feelings?  _ Your feelings?! _ Have you gone crazy?!”

“Peter, I…”

“You murdered my boyfriend, kidnapped me, strapped me to a bed and forced me to watch the murder you committed. What is wrong with you?” Peter started thrashing, trying to break out of his chains. Luckily for Beck, the strength suppressant was not wearing out, the young man was only going to wear himself out again. 

As Peter flailed around and screamed, Quentin was thrown from the bed. He looked up at Peter with pleading eyes. “Peter, please. I… I did this for you, for us…”

Peter turned to the man with venom dripping from his eyes. “Us? What us? You’re nothing to me. I don’t even know who you are. What did I ever do to deserve this?!”

Quentin sat on the floor staring up at the young man, his face was plastered with hurt. “Peter, I… I just wanted… I thought…”

“You thought what? You thought you’d become a homicidal, kidnapping maniac? You succeeded there. I can’t even understand your psychotic train of thought…”

Quentin stood and started to pace, muttering to himself and going over what he had done, whilst Peter continued to scream. “He dropped you off, I followed him home…”

“I cannot believe you thought this could work…”

“…And I stood outside his bedroom…”

“…You thought that I’d be happy that you did this…”

“…Standing over him, he begged me not to do…”

“…I love Tony, I will only love Tony…”

“…What I know I had to do, because I’m…”

“…I could never…”

“SO IN LOVE WITH YOU!” Quentin screamed straight into Peter’s face, cutting off anything the man had to say. “I’m in love with you, Peter. I just… I just wanted you to be mine.”

Peter laughed, “I am not some possession that you can just… Just win! I am a person. A human being! You can’t just kill the man I love and expect me to…”

Quentin punched Peter as hard as he could. He landed blow after blow to the young man’s head. He climbed onto the bed and straddle Peter’s waist, a crazed look in his eyes as he wrapped his hands around Peter’s throat, squeezing. Quentin leaned over and looked down at the young man, watching as tears were forced from his eyes. Peter struggled and tried to pull his arms up to claw at the hands, but the chains didn’t have enough give. 

Peter panicked, praying he had enough oxygen in his lungs to last until this psycho gave up. He could feel his windpipe being crushed. He was more scared than he had ever been. Everything hurt. His face, his throat, his wrists. Everything. He just wanted this all to be over. And that’s when realisation hit, even through the pain and the dwindling oxygen. If he let go and just allowed this maniac to kill him, it  _ would _ be over. He wouldn’t feel the pain anymore. The emotional pain and the physical pain. He wouldn’t have to deal with further beatings or whatever else Beck had planned. He wouldn’t have to live in a world without Tony.

That’s when Peter gave up. He stopped struggling and went limp. He tipped his head back and gave Beck easier access to his throat and felt the hands tighten even more. He eventually started to feel consciousness slipping away and allowed his eyes to flutter closed, no longer trying to gasp for air. He allowed a small smile to pull at the corner of his lips and he felt himself being pulled further and further away from life.

Quentin watched as Peter gave up the fight. He watched the body go slack and grinned, squeezing tighter, pressing down on the Adam’s apple as much as he could. He watched those beautiful eyes flutter closed and something snapped in his mind. He gasped and pulled back, retracting his hands as though they were burned. He sat back and stared at the limp body in front of him in shock. He hadn’t meant to go that far. He never means to go that far. Sometimes he just gets so… so angry. 

With a shaking hand, he reached down and checked for a pulse. It was weak, but it was there. Quentin breathed a sigh of relief and climbed off of the bed, taking a seat by the man’s waist. He brushed a stray curl off of Peter’s forehead and took in the man’s face. He was covered in bruises, tears carving several different tracks through the blood. 

Quentin sighed, “Oh my love, please don’t cry.” He wiped Peter’s cheek, pulling it back and looking at the blood. “I’ll wash my bloody hands and we’ll start a new life.”

Quentin leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on Peter’s forehead before standing and leaving the room. He locked the door and headed off to his bathroom. Maybe after his nap, Peter would be a little more receptive.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed what I've done! Kudos and comments are appreciated very muchly.


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